We knew the lunchtime buzz the past week would be Shamcey Supsup and the coveted Miss Universe crown. But what hilariously surprised us was, as early as the weekend before the pageant, friends traveling with us to Kota Kinabalu in Sabah, Malaysia, were already in Miss Universe mode.

They were “in the zone,” so to speak, from the time our Air Asia landed on the KK airport to the afternoon we flew out; in between were “pageant nights” spent at Shangri-La Rasa Ria. In what was, to me, a grave abuse of democratic rights, they gave themselves their own beauty queen titles, with such impunity that I could only watch in silence.

The tall “chinita”—but buffed—was Miss China. The one with fine, porcelain features was Miss Japan. The flamboyant and most articulate one was “Miss Virgin Islands No More.” The one with dusky Asian features was “Miss Hanoi.” You guessed it, my friends are metrosexual—all productive, successful, responsible citizens of the country.

The three women on that trip were also given their own titles. One was “Miss Persia” (the extinct country; in truth, my friend is mature, but not antique). Another was “Miss Air Asia” (actually the real beauty in the group). And me—“Miss Venezuela” (my metrosexual friends’ desperate sucking-up effort).

Miss U trivia

That KK weekend was Miss Universe trivia, high-energy night, complete with reenactments and role-playing. It’s incredible how many Filipinos obsess with Miss Universe trivia. Hardcore. According to my friends that weekend, they have a gay friend who they believe can beat all beauty-contest junkies in the Philippines. One of seven brothers (with different fathers, yet these boys were all raised exceptionally well by a driven mom, I was told), this gay friend of theirs has an incredibly encyclopedic knowledge of beauty contests, down to the runners-up (names and years) and their whereabouts today.

If there was a Cabinet post for Beauty Contest, this one would make a perfect department secretary, deserving a seat to the right of P-Noy at Palace meetings, if only for his incredible retention of statistics.

Apparently, that’s all this gay man does. He doesn’t hold a job; he follows the trail—full-time—of beauty contests/queens. In a country of unique gays, this gay takes the cake.

No mean feat

Meanwhile, over lunch last Wednesday to screen the beautiful Hermes art film “Hearts and Crafts,” Shamcey—again—was top of the agenda of the glamazon media.

“I think her beauty is generic, compared to Miss Angola,” said one.

“Her answer could have stronger bite also,” said another.

But still everyone agreed that being a Miss Universe runner-up was no mean feat, especially since we’d just come from the longest slump. I remember Auggie Cordero—the designer behind Margie Moran (who would become Miss Universe) and I think, Gloria Diaz—that Margie and Gloria, young as they were then, had interesting personalities. Gloria, whose answer in the Q/A is remembered to this day, is a born wit.

Now, wit may be hard to summon if you’re before an audience of a billion people. That was why, one of the editors at that lunch said, mentoring is a process in the Bb. Pilipinas contest.

Until that lunch, I didn’t know Anna Sobrepeña (now Lifestyle Asia editor) used to help prepare Bb. Pilipinas winners for the Q&A in the international pageants. She’d go over with them the questions that could possibly be asked. Like?

“How many islands does the Philippines have? You specify, high tide or low tide,” Anna recalled telling the Bb. Pilipinas winner.

The candidate she grilled on that question? Charlene Gonzales. That became the famous Q&A, as you know.

‘Gaydar’

What everyone at the table agreed on was that beauty contest trivia is the best “gaydar” (gay radar) known to man. The gays have perfected the game. And you know if the man is gay or not by his mastery of Miss Universe or any beauty pageant, or at the least, his all-consuming interest in it. To be clear, of course, one’s gender orientation or one’s obsession with beauty contests shouldn’t be anything to discriminate against.

Indeed, it’s about time the beauty contest organizers allowed the Filipino gay community to be at the helm of these contests, seriously now. Not that we want to be gender-specific, but in truth, they go at it with such passion and energy that it makes you wish—now, if only this rabid segment (especially in the social media) of the population had as much interest in the Philippine Constitution, or in governance, we’d perhaps be in the same advanced league as Singapore. (Singapore, incidentally, has yet to win an international beauty contest.)

Also at the Hermes lunch, people couldn’t but be drawn to former model Tetta Ortiz Matera (her photo as the PAL flight attendant on a PAL poster in the ’80s became an iconic mark of that era; many thought she was really a stewardess). She’s battling breast cancer and is almost done with chemo sessions. But, except for the chic scarf covering her head, she carries no clue of what she’s going through. She looks that good.

Tetta said she hardly felt the debilitating effects of chemo. She attributes this to the fitness regimen she’s had for years—running, doing marathon, gym, tennis. She continues to run on the treadmill these days. That, and I believe, her positive attitude. It’s that smile on her face. The best anti-carcinogen.

Heart attack

I saw no smile on the face of Phil Younghusband when I went to the wake of his mother, Susan, last Tuesday. Susan died of heart attack. She was only 49, leaving behind her children Phil, 25, James, 26, and Keri, 9. (Phil’s dad died years ago in the UK where the family was raised before they moved back here.)

The way Cathy Nazareno Rivilla narrated it, Susan that morning complained that she felt tired and asked her househelp to give her a massage. When the househelp was about to give her a massage, she noticed that Susan had “fallen asleep.” She and Keri couldn’t wake her up anymore.

Phil and James were in Bacolod for a match, so Keri had to call up her best friend, Cathy’s daughter. Keri said, “I can’t wake up my mom.” Cathy had to rush to the home of the Younghusbands and bring Susan to the hospital. Susan didn’t make it, and Cathy had to break the news, slowly, to Phil and James on the phone.

When we told him that his mom had left them perhaps all in “God’s time,” now that their soccer career is going great and that they’re fairly established, Phil could just squint, as if trying to hold back the tears.

“But Keri is only 9. She needs a mom,” he said.

Doting on Keri

Phil and James will have to be mom and dad to Keri now. That night, Cathy said, Phil was helping Keri attend to her schoolwork. In a way, looking after Keri isn’t new to Phil. Last year when we’d play tennis (don’t ever try giving this soccer icon a drop shot), I saw how he’d dote on Keri, teach her tennis, and help her change her sweat-soaked shirt and dab powder on her after a game.

It must help tremendously that Phil and James are surrounded by a strong support group. Cathy and her husband, and other people behind the Younghusbands’ football academy have been like a family to them. They are so close-knit.

That should be good, for now.